


Post-Freeze Lividity

by chubbychoco



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Canon-Typical Violence, Coma, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff and Mush, Hraxian Kraglin, Knotting, Love Confessions, Lover's Quarrel, M/M, Medical Trauma, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Pillow Talk, Protective Peter Quill, Space Battles, Threats of Violence, dual anatomy, more tags as needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubbychoco/pseuds/chubbychoco
Summary: "The computer was keeping him alive as best as it could, but with the nearest hospital that would take in their exiled asses more than a hundred jumps away there were really only two ways this could go.  Yondu would thaw and wake up, saved by the hyper-oxygenated environment and recompression injections provided by their rudimentary med programs......or he would not wake up."Or:  The story of Yondu waking up and being stubbornly cranky as he tries to navigate the emotional minefield that this 'almost dying' bullshit leaves behind.





	Post-Freeze Lividity

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely [fan work](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/KragduBB2017/works/12996093) for this fic exists, and you should check it out!

There wasn't much Kraglin was still afraid of, these days. Not that he’d been thinking about it or anything. There were bound to be a few things, at any rate – like fire, fire was awful. Burning didn't kill you anywhere near fast enough, and it hurt worse than an A'askvariian love bite; Kraglin didn't think there were many worse ways to go. Then there were the little, personal fears that you kept to yourself because Ravagers were assholes and that went double for your own crew. Plus you’d have to be some kind of idiot to not be be at least mildly concerned with Thanos' ugly mug.  
  
But those were distant fears, pale and watery, compared to what Kraglin was experiencing now.  
  
The ship's climate control was doing a good job of melting the ice from him, but Yondu was still unresponsive. He was bundled up in the med bay with not a damn doctor in sight because like an idiot, and _damn,_ how he hated himself for it, Kraglin had gone and sparked off a flarking mutiny and now there was no one around except him and Quill and Quill's crazy friends.  
  
The computer was keeping him alive as best as it could, but with the nearest hospital that would take in their exiled asses more than a hundred jumps away there were really only two ways this could go. Yondu would thaw and wake up, saved by the hyper-oxygenated environment and recompression injections provided by their rudimentary med programs...  
  
...or he would not wake up.  
  
And he would be given a lonely farewell, with a tiny handful of his friends and no colors over his ashes.  
  
Kraglin tried not to think about the long hours as he watched Yondu through the bay's viewing window for any signs of stirring. He would get up to pace and shift on occasion, but always ended up rooted back to the same spot, his forehead pressing an oily print where he kept resting it.  
  
“Hey, beanpole. Y'ain't gonna help him get better by staring at him. Why don'cha take a shower and get some sleep?” Kraglin turned his head and looked down to see Rocket, who was very pointedly not looking at him as he scampered up a wall brace to perch on the thin lip of the windowsill, claws catching and holding him in place. Once he was within range, his nose twitched and for a scant moment, those deep brown eyes met Kraglin's with clear distaste. “Especially the shower.”  
  
“I wanna be here when the cap'n wakes up,” Kraglin said, knowing better than to believe himself. He'd seen people pulled in after being exposed to the vacuum of space in the past – they rarely made it longer than a week. Decompression didn't play fair. Even if it didn't affect the spine, it could leave you blind and deaf, with necrotic marrow eating its way through your bones. And if it did hit the spine? Kraglin figured that the ones who ended up vegetables were the _lucky_ ones. No Ravager wanted to go into retirement paralyzed, limbs wracked with spasms yet dead on their bodies.  
  
Yondu wouldn't want to live like that. Kraglin didn't want to see him like that. None of this was okay.  
  
“Yeah, me too. But maybe you can not smell so much like piss when he does?”  
  
Kraglin resisted the urge to rip him from the window and punt the little bastard back through the door he'd come through. Barely.  
  
Sensing the wall he'd come up against, and knowing that he had _just_ had an uncomfortably heartfelt conversation about his shitty attitude, Rocket gave a begrudging sigh. “He's a good guy. Kinda. Mostly. I, uh...I hope it wasn't too presumerly of me to hail the other Ravagers and let 'em know what he did.”  
  
Kraglin looked sharply down at Rocket at that, eyebrows bunching. “Ya' did _what_ , now?”  
  
Rocket's fur bristled and he turned to meet Kraglin's glare. “He deserved it. I'd go to town on Dormammu's shimmering ballsack before I let Yondu go down in Ravager history as some kinda monster.”  
  
“But – that ain't your call!” Kraglin protested. Somewhere, distantly, he suspected it was a petty thing to say, particularly since Yondu had bonded with the little furball. It wasn't the act itself that he minded, though. It was the heavy pit in his stomach, the knowledge that the Ravagers wouldn't consider it enough, and despite hearing what Yondu had done...  
  
...they wouldn't come.  
  
The sons of bitches wouldn't come.  
  
Rocket wrinkled his nose in a defensive snarl. “Yeah, well, I didn't see you clamorin' to raise 'em.”  
  
Kraglin turned away to stare at Yondu lying there still and silent. “It ain't somethin' you'd understand.”  
  
Rocket's fur puffed with agitation and he bared his teeth at Kraglin. “Guess I wouldn't,” he growled before looking back at Yondu as well. It didn't take long before his fur deflated, greasy and slicked down like it usually was. Kraglin wondered if the gleam of metal at the base of Rocket's skull was just his imagination. “I don't know him like you do. Could be I never will. Truth is, I couldn't just sit around and do nothin' cuz...” He sighed, defeated, before speaking again. “...it don't sit well with me, losin' a friend like this.”  
  
Well, Kraglin could at least sympathize with that. The backlash of that stupid, stupid mutiny still stung him worse than anything in his whole life. Kraglin dropped his gaze, blankly staring at the thin silver line between window and wall.  
  
They must have been silent for at least another fifteen minutes before Kraglin turned stiffly on one heel, heading for the quadrant's communal washroom and sniping back at Rocket, “Ya' oughta take a shower too, y'know. Ya' don't smell much better.”  
  
Kraglin dragged his feet as he walked, not much in the mood to pick them up. His heart felt heavy. There was so much he and Yondu had never done – not that he'd been _picturing_ it or anything. Imagining the future, that was something you did when you had reason to believe there was gonna _be_ a future, and there wasn't a Ravager ship in the stars that had any kind of reason to believe that. But maybe he'd seen a poster for a beach planet or something. And maybe he'd thought about how nice it would be to have a week's vacation. Those thoughts obviously weren't related, especially not where Yondu was involved, but, yeah. Maybe.  
  
The hallway was lined with giant portholes, big round ones to keep the crew keen to any incoming threats. And since it was easier than doing anything else _,_ Kraglin found himself pausing to stare out at the stars, poking morbidly at those ideas like a tongue at a sore tooth. Which was a good thing. If he hadn't been, he might have missed the brief hexagonal matrix flash in the stars, dazzling white before it spat out a familiar ship and faded away.  
  
A _very_ familiar ship. Kraglin would know that ship anywhere.  
  
It was the _Quasar._ Stakar had come.  
  
His jaw went slack and he turned his body to press his palms against the acrylic, watching in wonder as its jets glowed a gentle blue to bring their crafts closer together. Not in an attack position, but careful and permissive, as if encouraging an approach. Behind Stakar, the matrix reappeared, flashing all around again and again as more ships joined them. Some new and polished, some staggering along on their last legs like the _Eclector_ had been...all of them familiar.  
  
There was a moment of shock and disbelief before raw emotion set in, and then by the _gods_ did it set in. Kraglin had been doing an awful lot of crying lately, but that didn't stop him from caving to another bout. His eyes stung, red and wet, as he roared out a triumphant 'yes' and slammed his fist against his chest in a salute hard enough to bruise. He didn't care if they couldn't see him. They'd answered Rocket; they'd really come all this way, they'd come back for _Yondu._ For an Exile.  
  
No. They'd never come all this way for an Exile.  
  
But they'd do it for a Ravager.  
  
Stakar's voice crackled to life over the shipwide intercom.  
  
“This is Stakar Ogord of the _Quasar_ to the _Eclector_ quadrant. Come in, _Eclector_. Inquiring about the health and status of Yondu Udonta.”  
  
Kraglin actually felt a bit dizzy, and he didn't give a flying flark if it was Yondu's much-hated idea of sentiment or not. Stakar was asking about Yondu, because he was _worried_ about him. Quill must have responded to Stakar from the control room, because there was a brief moment of silence, and then a reply.  
  
“Copy that, permission to dock with us. Our medical officers will do what they can.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
The Guardians of the Galaxy – despite their insistence to the affirmative, it felt weird and kind of self-righteous for Kraglin to think of himself as one of them – sat awkwardly around Stakar's craft.  
  
Quill eyed the silvery walls with blatant envy; the _Milano_ had been his baby, yes, but no matter how much love he'd put into it, it was an old M-ship with new paint and parts. The _Quasar_ was a sleek, modern craft, with an intuitive design and an engine so quiet it could be hard to tell whether she was running or not. Rocket, in a manner very unlike his usual one, didn't seem to be scanning for whatever wasn't bolted down. His eyes were on the polished floor, ears drooped flat, fuzzy black hands holding gently but firmly onto Groot so the twig didn't decide that it was time to alleviate his impatience with an adventure.  
  
The others were quiet in a more universal way, all restless silence and exhaustion. The _Quasar_ crew had graciously accepted Mantis into the med bay as well, despite being fairly certain that she would bounce back from her head injury before too long. Her kind was far sturdier than they seemed.  
  
The _Quasar_ crew's main focus, though, was Yondu. As much as the Guardians had wanted to watch to see if Yondu woke up (with some of them wanting via a bit more physical aggression than others), the med room had taken one look at Yondu and made themselves clear: no distractions. Yondu was a hair's breadth from death, spared only by the swift and smart usage of the recompression medications, and it would be an ugly recovery even if they could widen that hair.  
  
“The coma itself is nothing, but the deprivation was severe. It could take us multiple month-cycles to get his brain back to where it was again,” the surly Nicanthan doctor had warned them, “and there's a possibility of memory loss. He could wake up and not remember any of you. He could wake up and think he's still a Kree slave.”  
  
Kraglin had _hated_ how casually it had been mentioned; Yondu had always guarded that part of his life with bitter rage. He would have hated it. Would have punched a few holes in that shark-headed dumbass with one of those whistles of his, always so crisp and sure despite his home tongue having been robbed from him before he could learn his first word.  
  
Quill had hated it too, and had started to muscle the Nicanthan against the wall before Martinex had yanked him back and reminded him that more medical officers meant more people working to save Yondu. Quill had been remarkably tempted to sock him in the face, but the only thing any fleshy-type ever got from punching a Pluvian was a sliced-up hand.  
  
It felt like eternity before someone finally emerged from the same direction as the med bay...and it hadn't even been a doctor, much to the visible and collective disappointment of the Guardians. It was Aleta, transferred over from her own ship, with her soot-dark eyes and equally dark expression.  
  
“Cabins have been prepared for you all. Some of you will be required to share...” She glanced briefly at Gamora, who had been napping with her head against Quill's shoulder. “...but I doubt this will be a problem.” Scattered protests died quickly, either due to her impatient scowl or the sheer weight of how tired they all were. It was a deep tiredness, settled right into their bones, and one by one they all realized how much they needed to sleep.  
  
Only Kraglin stayed silent and unmoving, not meeting Aleta's stare. He just...waited.  
  
“Kraglin,” she said softly. Her tone was so _knowing._ Had it really been so obvious? “Come on. Sleep. You've got your own cabin and everything.”  
  
Kraglin wasn't sure if she'd made sure he had his own room because she was extending respect to a fellow Ravager...or if she knew that sharing his space with someone right now would make him sick to his stomach. Maybe both. Probably both, actually. He offered a tiny shake of his head, eyes still fixed on nothing. “Thanks a lot, Missus Ogord, but I'm jus' fine here right now.”  
  
He could feel her pained smile without even looking up. His manners towards women, married or otherwise, had been a point of laughter with the old crew. Now, Kraglin supposed, it must have just seemed sad.  
  
“Kraglin, stand up and follow me or I'll sedate you and drag you to your cabin.”  
  
Huh, maybe not as sad as he thought.  
  
Kraglin's best glare did absolutely nothing to dissuade her. She stood there, arms folded, with a patient but stony look on her face, until he finally had to concede that he was not the unstoppable force needed to budge an immovable object. His shoulders slumped and his eyes dropped back down, this time to the floor. No sense in making her waste good sedatives; it would only make both Ogords angry. “Fine.”  
  
Kraglin didn't feel the shuffle of his own feet, or hear the pneumatic hiss of his cabin door. He didn't feel how cool the room was compared to the one he and Yondu had shared more nights than not back on the Eclector, or notice how despite the _Quasar's_ newer build, the rooms were set up almost identically.  
  
What he did notice was that the iconic Ravager smell of leather and fresh sweat clung even here, and if he tried really hard, he could almost pretend the balled-up lump of blanketing beside him was the captain he so desperately needed to wake up.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Stakar was just starting to discuss taking Yondu to a hospital, a real one where they'd have to bribe or fight away a hundred bounty-seekers and loose-lippers, when the monitor over his head finally jumped to life. The med bay lit with a flurry of activity, new tests, questions being asked in order to check his responses. Tiny tics on the monitor indicated what none had dared hope for, because it felt so unlikely and far away.  
  
Yondu was alive.  
  
Of course, trapped in the blackness of his own mind, Yondu would have wished he wasn't, if he'd been aware enough to do so. Coming out of a coma was a convoluted affair, with one part of the brain working overtime, and the others still dredged under with a need to rest and recover, and then they would switch in such a way that he was never truly _awake_. Certainly, Yondu could _hear_ people, and he heard a garbled sound repeated often enough that it may have been his name. Sometimes their words even made sense, and he struggled to reply to them. But nothing made it from 'a' to 'b'. No command to open his eyes, or lift a hand, or form those thick, throat-grating Xandarian words ever seemed to get through the swimming electrical pulses that kept his brain chugging along.  
  
And he didn't care. So deep and thick was the fabric and fog that he couldn't quite remember why he was even supposed to.  
  
Of course, the people who had docked with him cared a great deal. Even those he had not had a chance to grow close to ate their meals with a bit more gusto and watched the world around them with sharper, less dismal eyes.  
  
Of everyone, Quill was the most outwardly enthusiastic. Losing two fathers in one day must have been agony; realizing that one was not lost at all was undoubtedly balm on a deep, weeping emotional wound. He joked and teased any of the med staff who came through, which generally earned him eye-rolls or the species equivalent thereof. Sometimes he even earned threats, but everyone knew it was his way of thanking them. There was no surer proof of Quill's approval than him including you in his circle of people he would mock without actual vitriol. While the _Quasar_ crew wasn't about to get drafted like Kraglin had been anytime soon, there was an unspoken understanding that the Ravager loyalty and brotherhood was cemented between them.  
  
And speaking of Kraglin.  
  
His appetite had picked up, that was unmistakable. Plates that used to get pushed off to the endlessly-hungry Drax with only a few bites taken from them were now cleaned near-spotless...although no one would want to use it immediately after Kraglin had licked away the last of whatever sauce or gravy had been coating it. If asked about Yondu he would immediately clam up, his shoulders bunching until the blades damn near met at his spine. He didn't want staccato green lines on a holo monitor, and he didn't want encouraging affirmations that it was 'only a matter of time now'. He wanted Yondu on his feet.  
  
Of course, he couldn't be sure what he'd do when he got there.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Waking up from a coma isn't like waking up from a nap,” Doc Valiras, the Nicanthan, had cautioned them. “You don't just get up and go back to whatever you were doing before. Brain's gotta relearn things. Speech, motor control, all that; it's like raising a kid in fast-motion.”  
  
And while that rather simplified the idea, he wasn't completely wrong, either. When Yondu's eyes finally opened, he was silent for three days. The first words he managed to spit out were a slurred blend of actual words in clumsy order, and nonsensical Centaurian whistle-clicks. Watching him trying to form both at once would have been funny if it wasn't so heartbreaking. Eventually though, Yondu hit a point where he was coherent enough that the med team finally decided to do something which they should have done as soon as his brain showed signs of life (something which Gamora had vocalized firmly and aggressively, Kraglin suspected because of Quill). They let in visitors.  
  
Only two visitors were allowed in at a time, and not for too long, because it would tire him out. Yondu certainly didn't stumble over _those_ words once he formed an opinion on their enforced scheduling.  
  
He was grateful for the visits, though. Soothed a rumpled part of him that he didn't even realize needed soothing until Quill came in, eyes brimming with tears. Yondu opened his mouth to tease him, but he was quickly cut off.  
  
“Don't, Yondu. For once in your life, just don't. Let me at least give a relieved sigh before you point out that I'm crying, alright?” As requested, Yondu rolled his eyes and remained quiet for exactly as long as it took Quill to look him over and let out a shuddering huff of breath. _Then_ he spoke.  
  
“The hell you cryin' for me for, boy? Only things that oughta bring water from your eyes is a missin' limb or a Chitauri hooker.” He started laughing at his own wit...or whatever passed as it when he still had a few vials of sedatives swimming around in his veins to keep him from getting too ornery.  
  
Quill chuckled along with him, scrubbing the back of his hand over his face to clear his tears. “Wow. Nice to know that officially declaring me your son hasn't changed much else.” He waited until Yondu's barking, drug-addled guffaws had died down before he set a hand on his shoulder...and damn if he wasn't tearing up again. “You did more right than you think.”  
  
Yondu's face didn't change much, except for the way his lips tightened into a thin line. “Aw, cut that shit out. Or make room for someone who ain't gonna put all their feelings on my chest.”  
  
Surprisingly, Quill opted to cut that shit out. And he squeezed in as much talking as he could in eight minutes before a roughened voice from just outside the door told him to move it or lose it. That voice then gleefully detailed all the 'it's he could lose, and some of the suggestions made Yondu wince.  
  
No sooner had Quill bid him farewell and cleared out than Rocket leaped up onto the foot of Yondu's bed, Groot clinging to his shoulder. “Don't ever do something like that again!” Rocket chided, with his puffed fur and suspiciously wet eyes. Yondu had to resist the urge to roll his own again. Was _everyone_ going to come in here crying? “Who's s'posta look after your hairless ginger dumbass? _Me?_ ”  
  
“I am Groot?”  
  
“The hell he can look after himself. You've seen him eat,” Rocket scoffed.  
  
“Don' worry,” Yondu slurred, trying to form his tongue around consonants and vowels instead of the warm, liquid notes that filled his mind. He hadn't heard them spoken in so long, and he'd certainly never been actually taught Centaurian by his fellow slaves – why did they stand out? “I ain't lookin' ta' do that again. Hurt like hell.”  
  
He had a similar conversation with everyone who came to visit him, except for two.  
  
Stakar's conversation was much longer, and far more detailed. He wouldn't let others bully him out of the room...no matter how often Quill drummed his fingers impatiently against the frame, waiting on the other side of the closed door for a longer turn now that Rocket wasn't looking to rush him out.  
  
Yondu faced the wall as Stakar spoke to him, because if he looked Stakar in the eyes while the Arcturan told him how proud he was to be his friend and how it made his heart soar to bring him back into the fold, he was going to cry. And he'd bared quite enough of his feelings down on Ego's surface, between revealing his emotional connection to the yaka arrow and telling Quill that it was an honor to be his dad.  
  
Stakar knew anyway, the dirty rotten bastard. He let out a rough snort, a grin pulling up the corners of his mouth. “You ain't changed a bit since you were first brought on, you know that, Udonta?”  
  
“You ain't changed much yourself,” Yondu chuckled, voice sounding rather wet and crackly for a man without a sucking chest wound or a borderline-fatal case of pneumonia.  
  
The second conversation was a whole lot shorter. Nonexistent, in fact.  
  
Because through all that stream of faces, all those people coming and wishing him well and talking and teasing and laughing, one never showed up.  
  
Kraglin.  
  
And _oh,_ did he have some opinions about that. Opinions which caused him to throw himself full-bore into his recovery and all the therapy it entailed. Not that he was happy about the therapy – it hurt, and even normal doctors tended to get snippy when you started cussing up a storm at them. Ravager doctors would get snippy, then plug you full of happy juice and tell you that you could try again tomorrow with a better attitude.  
  
But for now, at least, all he needed was to walk.  
  
Learning to walk properly was a short process, but an unpleasant one. Decompression did a godawful number on the brain, and it seemed to Yondu that every time he stood, his knees turned to jelly and his legs just couldn't agree on who went first. They shared some silent argument before deciding neither of them would go, locking his knees and sending him trembling like one of those 'fawn' things Quill used to coo over when he was a kid.  
  
The moment he _could,_ though, he stalked off to a cabin that had been helpfully pointed out by Aleta. One that saw precious little in the way of an open door lately, and if that wasn't motive for a man to find his feet and kick some skinny Hraxian ass, nothing was.  
  
He stood outside the door trying to fathom what could possibly lead Kraglin to avoid him like this for all of two seconds before losing his temper entirely. Yondu slammed his fist against the door in a rapid staccato, feeling the swinging of his medication line patting at his hip as it followed the motion of his arm. “Obfonteri! _Kraglin!!_ You open this flarkin' door before I tear right through it, you hear me you sonovabitch?!”  
  
He was expecting the biolock to light up in red.  
  
He wasn't expecting it to flash green, and for a skinny pair of hands to yank him through the moment the door had slid open enough.  
  
Yondu didn't have time to form words before Kraglin was hugging him so hard he was damn near wrapped around him, shivering and sniffling against cobalt skin. When one of Kraglin's hands finally did peel away, it was just to feel along his body, hand flinching away at the tube that ran from the vein in the back of his left hand to the medication module clipped to the same wrist. There were a lot of words in that hug, in that touch – soft, gentle words that Yondu could feel curling in his belly like a purring cat, warmer and more content than he was used to.  
  
Or that he was quite willing to allow Kraglin yet. Boy had got some ideas that just because they ended up in Yondu's bed together most of the time, he was soft for him or something?  
  
Surprisingly, that wasn't what he said. “Y'didn't even come see me when I woke up, y'ugly prick,” Yondu snarled against him.  
  
Kraglin shook his head, not pulling back to look at him just yet. Yondu could feel the bony jut of his chin digging into him, rolling over the muscle in his shoulder. “I couldn't,” Kraglin croaked, sounding embarrassed by himself. “I couldn't. Knew I'd do this as soon as I saw ya'. Knew I wouldn't be able to stop myself...an' ya' always hated it when I did anythin' in public.”  
  
Yondu felt like someone had jabbed him in the ribs. Well.  
  
“An' I'm not sure I even deserve it, truth is,” Kraglin continued, words slow and shaky like he'd been dragging them all this way and only just managed to get them to Yondu's ears before his strength gave out. “I did wrong by ya', Cap'n. Real wrong.”  
  
...well.  
  
“You damn right you did,” Yondu clipped out, but feeling Kraglin tense didn't bring him the savage joy it normally would. Yondu's non-tubed hand came up to give Kraglin's hip a firm push. Kraglin clung for as long as he dared before allowing himself to be pushed away, slow and lingering, like he'd been stuck with honey. “Turned my crew against me, damn near got me ki - ”  
  
“Don't,” Kraglin cut him off, a plea running beneath the sharp steel of his tone. “Don't, Cap'n.” There was a long break before he said, much quieter this time, “Please.” There were silent words there, ringing loud as a bell in their unspoken weight. _Don't tell me how ya' nearly got killed. I seen it twice an' I couldn't do nothin' real for either of 'em._  
  
Yondu fixed him in a dark ruby stare until Kraglin couldn't look at him anymore. He sighed roughly and rubbed his temples. Though it was an exercise long removed from his thought processes, he tried to put himself on the other side – what would he have done if he'd watched one of them freezing and suffocating to death? _Taken it like a man,_ he told himself, but he wasn't so buried in his own bravado that he believed it. Not for a second. Ignoring his emotions was an indefinite process, but there was only so much lying he could do before he had to call himself out.  
  
If it had been Quill that had been out there, he'd have torn the universe apart in his rage. He'd have brought Ego back from the dead just to torture him, rip into him piece by bleeding piece until he dropped from sheer exhaustion. He'd have murdered everyone who even thought the name 'Peter Quill' around him to avoid thinking about the pain of the loss.  
  
And if it had been Kraglin? Yondu took in that gaunt, narrow face, with his haunted eyes and quivering lower lip...and he knew, like a stab in the gut, that he'd fly into a rage for Kraglin, too. Kraglin had a whole lot of making up to do, a lot of begging and thieving of shiny trinkets to replace all the ones that had blown up with the _Eclector._ But the more Yondu mulled the idea in his head, the more certain he was.  
  
He'd have pounced on Kraglin the moment he opened his eyes if Kraglin had been the one in a decompression coma.  
  
Flarkin' _sentiment._  
  
Worse than the sentiment was the fact that right now, it needed returning, or there would be more harm done than good. At least there was no one else around to see. Yondu cupped one of Kraglin's cheeks, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the ridge of bone. Kraglin's eyes rose up from their shame-scuffed viewpoint on the floor. “Cap'n?” he ventured, trying to keep the hope from his voice.  
  
“Ain't fixin' to scare you again, Obfonteri.” There was a moment's pause between them before he corrected himself with a dismissive tilt of his head, “Krags.”  
  
Kraglin lit at the familiar nickname, even as Yondu dropped his hand. He knew Yondu well enough to know what he'd just heard, and that the angle of his head wasn't nearly as nonchalant as he was trying to make it look. “Wouldn't reckon ya' are,” Kraglin said with a smile. The light glinted off of one metal-capped tooth and, not for the first time, Yondu felt a weird kind of twist in his chest at that smile. Hell if he knew what caused it; maybe he should tell the _Quasar's_ doctors to check it out. “Y'best get back to bed before that Valiras fella comes lookin' for ya'.”  
  
“I ain't scared of no swimmer,” Yondu scoffed.  
  
“Maybe, but y'need that recompression serum, don'cha? And that one's runnin' low.” He pointed to the near-empty vial of clear gold set into the tiny square pack clipped to Yondu's wrist – nearly obscured by the sterile green-white drapes he'd been changed into so that everything was accessible to the doctors. But not obscured enough, if he was being sent back. Yondu glanced down and huffed out a disdainful breath. He should have had the doc replace the cartridge before he went looking for Kraglin. “C'mon. Ya' only just got better. Let's keep it that way.”  
  
“I don't wanna hear it,” Yondu scoffed, even as he headed for the door. He could feel Kraglin's desire to touch him lingering, so certain and strong that he could have sworn he felt those warm, skinny fingers dragging down his back. When he turned to look though, Kraglin stood like a gaunt statue, watching him with some odd, implacable emotion burning in his eyes.  
  
Damn it.  
  
Yondu reached back to brush the back of his good hand over Kraglin's, and he could have sworn he could see the man actually melting.  
  
“You get _one_ free pass. But now you best come visit me if those bilgesnipe-fuckers are gonna keep me in bed.” He leveled one finger at him, on eye level so he could glare along its length. “You hear me?”  
  
Kraglin looked as though he'd never heard anything so good in his life. “Yes sir, Cap'n.”  
  


 

* * *

  
  
Eight weeks later, Stakar stood beside Yondu with a proud smirk on his face, rapping an encouraging hand against his shoulder. Both of them looked up at the sky bay and what rested within it – a well-outfitted M-bay ship with a big cargo belly under her, all fat, dark blue curves and thrumming chrome-bright engines. The suspension rounds glowed a warm pale orange, and not for the first time since waking up, Yondu felt his throat tighten in a way that had nothing to do with his health problems.  
  
“She ain't as new as mine, but she'll do better by you than your old one,” Stakar told him, folding his arms over his chest. “Ready for combat even without M-ship deployment, but she holds thirty of those, and her shields will take a harder pummeling than a Contraxian back-alley bot. Stole her from some Honchi, and she's been here collecting space dust ever since.”  
  
“Honchi?” Yondu asked worriedly.  
  
“Don't look like that; we purged the vents. You won't find any slug runts interrupting your raids,” Stakar laughed. He turned around and headed for a rest area, encouraging Yondu to follow after him. “Now, she's a bit pricey to just _give_ you, even as much as we're celebrating.”  
  
“Y'always were a cheap bastard,” Yondu sniped, though one corner of his mouth was pulled up as high as it could go.  
  
“Just for that, you can pay her black market price instead of the three-quarters I was planning on offering,” Stakar scoffed. He caught the fall of Yondu's face and grinned without so much as a hint of repentance. “That's right. Think before you talk, Yondu. How many times did I have to bail you out of trouble because that lesson never stuck?”  
  
“Guess it still ain't stuck. Can I blame the coma?”  
  
“You can, but I won't believe you. And anyway, I got you another present, too. This one's free of charge.”

Intrigued, Yondu followed him into the rest area and looked around. He was surprised at what he saw – a giant Ligran woman with the most brilliantly purple hair he'd ever seen, a pair of Arcturan twins who looked up in mirrored interest as he and Stakar entered, a Pluvian who couldn't be more than five feet tall but whose scowl seemed to suck the air out of the space around him, and a tall, sleek android who waved with disinterest at Yondu. All of them were wearing Ravager clothes.

  
Fresh, creaking leathers, that burnt rust-red color of Yondu's faction.  
  
“What's this?” Yondu asked.  
  
“This is Muz, Theno, Remo, Atrolan, and Ryg. Hand-picked 'em. I know you'll want to choose the rest on your own, but these five plus you and Obfonteri should be enough to get in the air, take on some smaller jobs.” Stakar slid a knowing grin to Yondu, whose wide eyes and tight jaw conveyed nothing. “What do you think? Wanna head to Contraxia, throw down some drinks, and get to know 'em?” At the mention of Contraxia, Atrolan – the Pluvian – threw his fists in the air and hooted.  
  
A muscle in Yondu's jaw twitched. “They look green,” he said stiffly.  
  
“You can say 'thank you', you know. Won't kill you.”  
  
“Maybe, but why would I take the risk?” Yondu looked between the five of them, who were now hopefully eyeing him in hopes of a positive response to that visit to everyone's favorite vice-coated space rock. He wasn't especially concerned about their feelings...but he did need a new crew. And they might have looked like a bunch of newbies, with their brand-new Ravager gear and their under-scarred skin, but they also looked like they were itching for a reason to throw a punch or snatch something pretty.  
  
Definitely a good start to a full crew. “Aw, hell. Let's see if you lot can get this thing outta the atmosphere.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Life was good. Real damn good.  
  
Despite Kraglin worrying over him like a mother hen when he ordered his first shot of spicewhip, Yondu had been assured that at this point, the only thing he needed to do was take a nightly injection of recompression maintenance serum. Other than that, he was good to go, all the normal Ravager-esque delights included.  
  
Which was why, an hour after landing on Contraxia, he was laughing and cracking glasses with his new crew, who took to him like five murderous fish to water. Stakar had made sure they would, Yondu knew that, just like Stakar had made sure the best of the Ravager haunts knew that the ban on Yondu was lifted, which meant for the first time in years, he and his could _really_ enjoy themselves. Shame the better members of his old crew weren't around to enjoy it with him.  
  
Well...most of them. Kraglin was with him, finally relaxed after his fifth shot and downright fun after his eighth. Laughing with the others, nodding flirtatiously at the serving girl bots, and lolling against Yondu every time the drink sent him dizzy enough. Used to be that Yondu would have shoved him back and told him to mind where he sat while others could see them.  
  
He didn't now. He was in too good a mood, warm and buzzing with life and booze, and when he felt Kraglin's head tuck briefly against his neck – his favorite place to nibble – it caused that buzzing warmth to slink a bit lower than his belly. Kraglin had learned his lesson, right? One would think so, watching him mope around like a kicked orloni.  
  
Didn't mean he wouldn't hold some of it over his head every now and again, stop him from getting any ideas about rankling him twice, but if they were celebrating the whole 'not-being-exiled' thing, it just made sense to extend that to his bed.  
  
Yondu dropped a hand to his side and gave Kraglin's thigh a rough, firm squeeze. Kraglin shivered in his seat and his laughter dropped an octave, all husky and pretty. Yondu would have licked his lips if they hadn't been occupied with drawing back another glass.  
  
“Need us to watch the door while you two disappear?”  
  
Yondu shot his eyes over to the Ligran, who was looking at him as calmly as if she'd asked about the weather...which was rather fitting, given the storm that had just filled Yondu's eyes. “Come again, darlin'?”  
  
“You and Obfonteri?” she asked. Yondu cursed himself for slipping up, doing something so unsubtle where other people could see. He was drunker than he thought. Before he could tell her to keep her unwanted questions to herself, though, she continued. “Ain't judging you, captain. Not by any means. Thanos knows no one who wants to live otherwise would mention it. But if trouble comes knocking, be best if I'm as sober as I can be for it so long as you're occupied.”  
  
Well, that was unexpected. Yondu hadn't liked it when people even hinted at them before; hated the idea that someone knew he had a weak spot. Which Kraglin wasn't. He just didn't like hearing it was all.  
  
But the way she said it, like it was as natural as the solar winds, and the way the others nodded their agreement – or at least their understanding – made him think maybe he didn't have to play it quite so close to the vest with this lot. His old crew, sure; half of them had joined _after_ his exile because they knew they'd be able to get away with so much more. Couldn't trust people like that. But these five were a better breed...more like Tullk and Oblo, stars rest their souls. They'd have his back. And hell, getting together had worked out for Stakar and Aleta, right?  
  
Hm, best not to go there. Those two were married, after all. And Yondu wasn't looking to get hitched, freshly thawed outlook be damned.  
  
He looked over at Kraglin, who met his eyes with unmistakable hunger. Well, it was hard to resist a look like that...and it had been so long since he felt that warm, skilled tongue on any part of him, but especially the places he liked it most.  
  
Unfortunately, as Muz had predicted, trouble did in fact come knocking. And it came knocking before he could even start pulling Kraglin to his feet.  
  
“Well, well. Udonta. It's been a long time since I've seen your ugly mug.”  
  
Yondu didn't recognize the speaker – a lanky ink-black man with glowing eyes and fluffy antennae. Not a Ravager; no leathers. He snarled disdainfully, waving him off. “Beat it, stranger. M' enjoyin' myself too much to put up with you.”  
  
“You don't remember me?” He braced one hand on the table and promptly swiped the drinks from it, resulting in a splash of sweet, spicy-smelling alcohol on the floor and a set of shattered glasses. Around them, several groups fell quiet, and quite a few more instead got louder at the promise of a fight. “You stole my - “  
  
He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence, not that Yondu would have shed any tears over whatever he'd liberated the bastard of. Yondu was on his feet, Kraglin right behind him, and a single sharp whistle had a hole clean through the interloper's head. The man dropped like a sack of yaro root, and behind him, his friends stepped uneasily back. A low, sustained note kept the arrow in the air, but surprisingly, it was the twins that rose to their feet next.  
  
“Do not _ever_ knock down my drink,” Remo growled, reaching out for one of them.  
  
Yondu's certainty that Stakar had picked well was cemented when Theno threw the first punch, aiming for the person in his brother's grip. There was a crunch of bone and jet of blood that had Kraglin's pupils shrinking down, and he vaulted the table to intercept the other three that Yondu's late ex-mark had brought along.  
  
Kraglin never could resist a fight. Hraxians rarely could, but even so, Kraglin just had a talent for violence...and three blows in, that violence started spreading, a bloodied ripple in a pond of people who were always looking to rough someone up. Plenty of the scum there had been wronged by Ravagers and vice versa; scores only remained unsettled because no one wanted to get blacklisted. Once someone started something, though, all bets were off. And the bar staff knew it, which was why they had panic buttons for just such an occasion. There was no stopping it once it got started, just waiting the mayhem out behind the massive sheets of blaster-proof acrylic that slammed down over the bar and its wares.  
  
Yondu gave another sharp whistle through his teeth, the yaka arrow flashing through the crowd to burrow through one of the group that had started this. To his left, some of the crew of the _Starbrute_ had found themselves outnumbered by a group of attackers – Yondu had always liked that captain, and fortunately for them, Kraglin knew it. He was pulling the less-desirables away from the crew with savage, snarling howls, digging his nails into them until they bled, then tearing muscle and tendons back until unfortunate bodies attached to them were screaming for mothers and mates.

The rest of the crew of the _Eclector II_ might have been small, but they were proving themselves nicely. Muz was more muscle than fur, and anyone she hit was lucky if all they did was vomit. Atrolan knew where his strength lay; he attacked the people with tender skin, easily torn and damaged. Ryg was capable of incapacitating electrocutions, and the twins liked to work as a pair – one holding, one pummeling. And by the time the police arrived (or what passed as the police on Contraxia, given the general nature of the place), Yondu was laughing, actually laughing as though he hadn't just been at the chaotic epicenter of something which had left him bleeding from a couple well-placed punches. It had been too long since he'd enjoyed a good brawl, and all the better if a few enemies died in the process.

The seven of them hauled ass back to the _Eclector II_ before they could be questioned, and as soon as they were alone, Kraglin – panting, with his lip still twitching into breathy snarls and his hands covered in a slick, smeared rainbow of blood – gave Yondu's ass a hard squeeze. Yondu grunted as Kraglin pulled them together, nuzzling roughly at his neck, beard prickling against his skin. He drifted from his favorite spot only to lick some blood away from Yondu's chin, and a throaty growl punched its way out from his throat at the taste.  
  
“Anyone ever tell ya' how good ya' look when you're fightin'?” Kraglin murmured.  
  
“Anyone ever tell _you_ that your post-fight wood's easier to call than a solar cycle?” Yondu countered with a smirk, grinding against him. Kraglin's hips stuttered against his, the curve of his arousal already plain as day. “An' we never did get 'round to fuckin'. Get your ass in my quarters, Krags, before we end up breakin' in these hallways.”  
  
Kraglin's eyes brightened. “Yes sir, Cap'n.”  
  
Even with their mutual drunkenness tamped down by adrenaline, they were both enjoying that floaty, buzzing feeling in their heads as they walked down the hall with as much subtlety as they could muster...not that it mattered, Yondu thought to himself. The others clearly knew. Still, there were boundaries to be acknowledged for now.  
  
Yondu tore through those boundaries like a paper door as soon as he and Kraglin were in his quarters. He dropped both hands to his ass and mirrored Kraglin's earlier squeeze, pulling their bodies together. Kraglin groaned against him, one hand already flying up to yank at Yondu's coat buckles with skinny fingers. “Feels better when there ain't no pants, y'know,” Kraglin supplied at the continued kneading from those callused blue fingers.  
  
“You're right.” Yondu let Kraglin slide him out of his coat before going to work on the zipped front of Kraglin's. He admired the pale, dusty-furred skin that came into view, carding his fingers over it. Kraglin shimmed the rest down over his hips and onto the floor, where it promptly caught on the boots that were still on. It was easy enough to get out of them, but he nearly fell down all the same.  
  
Yondu gave a snorting chuckle. “Seem a little weak in the knees, boy. Let's get you in bed,” he rumbled.  
  
Kraglin had never liked the idea more...except maybe when he was in rut, but that didn't count. That was biology. This was raw, unfettered attraction, made that much stronger when they were both naked and they tumbled down onto Yondu's bed. Yondu usually yanked a sheet on top of them as soon as they were down – a force of habit from when he had Quill on board – but this time, he didn't care. He just slung himself over Kraglin, nestling his ass against the predictably rock-hard cock beneath him.  
  
“Like I said, solar cycle,” Yondu chuckled. “Anytime you draw blood, you're stiffer than my last drink.”  
  
“Works well, since _you_ get wetter than a Manneq ocean.”  
  
“Don't give me no lip,” Yondu said without vitriol. He shifted his position until Kraglin's tip was grazing against the hollow beneath his balls, and Kraglin whined, pushing up. Yondu followed his motions; he wasn't about to just let him slot home that easy. No matter how mutual that craving was. “You gonna knot me, Kraglin?”  
  
Kraglin, whose brain regressed rapidly once he was ready to push in, nodded with a frantic air. “Uh-huh.”  
  
“Fill me up right, get this pussy nice and loose for you?”  
  
Kraglin groaned; Yondu's ass might have been tight, but Yondu was extremely protective over his additional parts, hated that he'd ever been in a situation terrifying and dire enough to wake up that aspect of his biology. The fact that he talked about it like it was nothing, and that he was so _ready_ to let Kraglin fuck him there...  
  
“Gods, yeah,” Kraglin very nearly whimpered.

“Good.” Yondu needed no further prompting; he sat down on that blunt point and eased it inside, clenching around him once he was fully seated. Kraglin's self control was utter garbage, and once Yondu's face had lost its tense concentration and slackened into heady bliss, he rolled his hips up, sharp and hard. Yondu pressed back against him, bouncing to meet each following thrust.  
  
It never took long for them to build up real speed, and especially not after battle. Kraglin's body snapped to meet that wet warmth, his moans blurring into something that was almost a single, stammering noise. Yondu gritted those thick, needy sounds of his own out as though he were hoarding them...at least until Kraglin shifted, rubbing against something inside him that made his heart skip a couple beats. After that he groaned freely, fingers clenching around the joints of of Kraglin's knees as he pulled him up to get him deeper, _deeper_.  
  
Fluid ran in thick pearls down the tip of Yondu's cock, catching on the plates and pooling between them, and as soon as Kraglin felt his own base starting to firm up, he reached out with a shaking hand to coax more out from Yondu. He was shockingly good with his hands, between plenty of practice and a dogged determination to please. Yondu could feel more coming out, until it didn't pool so much as flow, and his hips shuddered in that final push towards orgasm.  
  
“Y'almost there, Yondu?” Kraglin asked between needy pants of breath.  
  
It was so rare to hear him say his name...and kind of hot. Yondu groaned and bucked forward, nails catching on Kraglin's legs. “Yeah – yeah, darlin', I'm almost – almost - “ He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence before he was coming, hard and in thick lines that streaked over Kraglin's bony torso.  
  
Kraglin wasn't long behind him, pumping with reckless ecstasy through the last of it until his knot caught him properly...or as properly as it could in their corresponding biology. Yondu was wet enough to be slippery, especially with the addition of a liberal amount of Hraxian jizz. He could have popped out if he'd needed to. But right now wasn't a case of 'need', it was a case of 'want'.  
  
And both of them very much wanted to stay locked together, shivering through those last few electric waves of pleasure.

When Yondu finally flopped down beside him, he didn't make any fuss when Kraglin tucked up against his strong, chubby blue body. Kraglin could feel a warm contentment washing over him. Yondu might have hated the softer side of emotion, but he always seemed to enjoy casual closeness in bed. Like there was something about the company that made him feel good enough to ignore the fact that it was 'mushy gushy stuff'.

Kraglin nibbled Yondu's neck for a while, listening him make that muzzy noise that he insisted wasn't a gotdamned _purr,_ thanks-so-much. He was buzzing with felicity, a happiness much deeper than any cuddle-based joy could offer him. “So...ya' ain't mad at me, then?” he asked as he settled in fully, thinking about sleep.  
  
Yondu turned to look at him, sweat beaded on his brow, eyes hazy with the lingering delight of climax. “I trusted you with my life on Ego. You didn't let me down.” Kraglin seemed to puddle into the bed, a relieved hybrid of laugh and gasp pushing from his lungs...  
  
...and then Yondu caught his shoulder in one hand, squeezing a bit harder than usual.  
  
“But don't _ever_ piss me off like that again.”  
  
Kraglin blinked at that, Adam's apple bobbing hard as he swallowed. It wasn't like an implied – or not-so-implied – threat was a deal-breaker; it was impossible to hold any kind of consistent relationship with Yondu if you had deal-breakers of any kind, really. Especially threats. And hygiene. But he felt a deeply unpleasant quiver in his belly all the same. Not because Yondu threatened to kill him if he betrayed him...  
  
...but, he realized, because Yondu thought he could bear to do it twice when the first time had nearly killed him.  
  
“Never again, Cap'n,” he croaked. “Never.”  
  
Yondu nodded, satisfied, and settled back down to get some sleep. Kraglin did as well...but even with the rather heavy topic they'd just touched on, he was happy. Better than happy, even; short of full-on rejection from the man he was huddled against, nothing could bring him down right now.  
  
It had been the heat of the moment, but Yondu had called him 'darling'.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Crew numbers were up by another seven when Ryg called Yondu over to examine a message that had been sent to them directly. They gestured to the screen, a grin over their synthskin face as Yondu perused the scrolling pale blue words.  
  
  
\- hailing _Eclector II_ , Captain Udonta  
\- service wanted: destruction of Sovereign ship _Unreachable_  
\- 350,000 credits for ship destruction  
\- additional reward of 50,000 credits for every bay lot of cargo retrieved  
\- contact Marzu Etmolag at Gomega Tanner, Knowhere  
  


“Seems like a low bounty for a Sovereign ship. Flark knows those golden assholes don't quit until they mete out whatever their idea of justice is,” Ryg commented. “But on the other hand, if there are no survivors to say who destroyed them...”  
  
“I like how you think,” Yondu said, returning their grin. “And 'sides, the Sovereign already want me dead. Don't see how them wantin' it twice is gonna make it happen.” He stood up and cracked his knuckles, already heading over to Kraglin, who had been listening in with a less-than-subtle tilt to his stubbly head. “Obfonteri. What'chu think?”  
  
Kraglin looked over at him, startled out of pretending he wasn't paying attention. “Me, Cap'n?”  
  
“Ain't another Obfonteri on board, 'less one of these greenies lied about their name.”  
  
“Yeah, but...” Yondu had never cared too much about his opinion on jobs if he already decided he liked the sound of it, much less asked him whether or not they should take it. Kraglin couldn't help but wonder if it was a test? Or maybe a trick. Goodness knew he'd been expecting as much after their roll in the hay, like Yondu would come to his senses and realize who he was fucking.  
  
“'But' what? Gimme an answer, boy,” Yondu demanded.  
  
Kraglin looked over at the screen, which Ryg enlarged so he could read it. He processed the information like lightning, a necessity for the job – highly revenge-motivated target, good money, possibility of additional rewards, damn good weapons on the _Eclector II_ , the Sovereign probably assumed Yondu was dead. Reward outweighed risk...and if they had to kill a few extra, overly-enthusiastic pursuers, well, more practice for him. His bone gallows was getting rusty, and ripping the spine out of a high-and-mighty captain would send the rest of the golden fuckwit crew a message that they could take home to their higher-and-mightier queen.  
  
“Always did like the Sovereign,” he said with a wicked smirk that caused immediate heat to flare in Yondu's belly. “The looks on their faces when they remember they can be killed is somethin' real special. And their blood tastes nice.”

By the Celestials and their collective self-righteousness, how had he ever lived without Kraglin? Yondu gave a hearty, mean laugh and plopped himself down in the captain's chair, slinging one leg over the armrest. Once they were done, he'd have to get Kraglin something real nice to celebrate the job. Or maybe _do_ something. Kraglin wasn't much on trinkets and shinies like he was, but he did love spending time with him.  
  
Maybe they could head to a swamp in Centauri-IV, or one of the Hrax deserts, and go on a hunt. Kraglin loved a good hunt, especially if they settled down with a campfire and ate their kill under the stars instead of in the ship. Loved it when Yondu fed him, too, fingers all slick with the fat that had melted into the meat during cooking, trusting Kraglin not to bite. Too hard. Seemed most of his good memories, whether a nice break or a good laugh or a better fuck, featured Kraglin.  
  
Made sense. They'd been around each other long enough, after all.  
  
“Alright, everyone! Get this thing to Knowhere, and we'll _all_ sleep a lil' easier with our pockets weighted down, don'chu think?”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Marzu Etmolag did not get an especially kind greeting from Yondu, not once Yondu saw who he was. He should have known. Etmolag was no Xandarian or Pluvian name, but it was just language-compatible enough that they must have been linguistically closer than, say, the Badoon.  
  
But Kree? Why a flarkin' _Kree?_  
  
“I thought you folks didn't hire Ravagers,” Yondu said distastefully, looking over Marzu like he was something he'd stepped in.  
  
Marzu didn't seem especially perturbed by the chilly reception. He bit into a Centaurian pomme, rolling the shiny purple fruit between his fingers before meeting Yondu's eyes. “I'm odd like that,” he said. “I'm given to understand you and I are both...out of the ordinary for our kinds. I believe that's why my employer sent me to talk business with you instead of coming herself.”  
  
Kraglin snarled as Yondu leaned back. “I don't do third parties, boy. Get me this miss of yours or get the hell out of my sight. And have fun with the Sovereign.”  
  
Cracked blue hands shot up in a blatant 'now hold on'. Yondu hated it. Hated that fake gesture, when the look on Marzu's face was a knowing smirk like he _knew_ Yondu would stop for him. _No Honchi-fuckin' Kree tells me what to do._ Yondu narrowed his eyes and flipped the side of his coat back, revealing his arrow.  
  
Just in case the threat wasn't real enough, Kraglin helpfully filled words in where Yondu's grim scowl remained silent. “Ya' best ask real nice if you want the cap'n to stay,” Kraglin supplied. “Quick-like, if ya' also wanna live.”  
  
Marzu's smug look fell. “It would benefit all of us – not least of all, myself – for you to hear me out, Mister Udonta. Please.”  
  
'Mister Udonta'. Ha. Yondu liked titles of respect, but he hated 'mister', especially when there was a more applicable title. “You call me what, now?”  
  
“...Captain, I do apologize. Captain Udonta. I'm humbly requesting - “  
  
“Don'chu lie to me. You're flarkin' needling, you ain't 'humbly' nothin'.”  
  
The Kree's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, and Yondu felt a savage, albeit childish, satisfaction at having driven him so thoroughly to distraction. “Please, Captain Udonta, listen to the offer. If you do not, you will hardly be able to meet my employer – she will simply send someone else.”  
  
“That a fact?” Yondu snorted. “Well, maybe she ain't so keen on my business after all, then.”  
  
“I assure you, she is. It isn't every day someone manages to survive offending the Sovereign, much less destroy so many of their ships in the process.” Yondu didn't feel the need to let him know that he'd had plenty of help in doing that; not only did he not want to share the news, but a certain foul-mouthed furball would undoubtedly comm him in order to yell down his ear about shifting annoying people his way. Rocket had been the one to skillfully man the quadrant's weapons, after all, and that information was staying with him. “We need _you,_ Captain Udonta. No one else has proven themselves capable enough for my mistress' trust.”  
  
Yondu went quiet in consideration. “Your mistress. She Kree too?”  
  
“I hardly see what difference it makes,” Marzu answered. Yondu turned towards the door, and he cleared his throat. “No. She's Hraxian. Like your rather intimidating friend.” Kraglin smirked at the descriptor, huffing a single, near-silent laugh as Yondu turned back around. “Will you take the job?”  
  
“Hm. Five hundred thousand credits,” Yondu snorted.  
  
Marzu looked at Yondu as if he were something malodorous...which he may have been, but by no means enough to merit _that_ face. “I'm not authorized to barter with you.”  
  
“Then take the hit your own self, or lose me and mine. Your call.”  
  
Marzu's eyes narrowed in naked disgust, but he folded his arms and nodded all the same. “Very well. Five hundred thousand. I'm sure I can pull up the extra hundred and fifty from _somewhere._ ” He tapped a small holopad on his wrist, pulling up a tiny glowing interface that Yondu could just barely make out if he squinted. There was more tapping, and some irritable swiping as well. “And...there. Your participation is confirmed; she will wire you the money shortly, I'm sure. Should you fail, she will take it back just as shortly.”  
  
“Don'chu worry your ugly mug none. I ain't gonna fail,” Yondu said, straightening his coat out and walking over to shake Marzu's hand with all the enthusiasm of a lobotomy patient. “C'mon. Ain't a real deal unless you shake.”  
  
“Of course,” Marzu said in a bone-dry facsimile of manners. Once he had Yondu's hand in his, though, his demeanor changed and his voice dropped, low enough that Kraglin couldn't hear. Yondu was used to threats uttered during the binding, and was no stranger to the sudden tightness of his hand. What came next, however, was new. “And Captain? I'd recognize those grid marks on your skull anywhere. Should you decide to do something as foolish as betray my employer, I know of some scientists who would love to hear where yo - “  
  
Marzu was not given a chance to finish that particular warning. Yondu didn't even purse his lips to whistle – hell, he doubted he could have, given the grimace of rage that had pulled his mouth tight. He slammed his free hand into Marzu's face, the blunt heel of his palm smashing up into his nose. Blood poured immediately, shiny and violet, and Marzu let go of his hand to stumble back.  
  
He made it all of half a step before Yondu was on top of him, knees pinning his arms to his sides, both hands balled up into fists now. He threw blow after blow in eerie silence, breath hissing out through his teeth, his implant glowing like fire as his fists blurred from the constant motion. Marzu's screaming turned into a howling gurgle as Yondu pounded his face to something unrecognizable. It was only when blood started to spatter from his knuckles each time he pulled them back – not just Marzu's, but an oil-and-water swirl of purple and black – that Kraglin rushed in to pull Yondu back.  
  
Yondu took a swing at him too for even daring to try. “Lemme go!!” he barked, trying to struggle away. Kraglin could be deceptively strong; there was a lot of muscle under that leather. And a lot of skill holding Yondu down, too.  
  
“Cap'n, you're gonna hurt yourself. Y'already have,” Kraglin pointed out, looking at his scraped hands.  
  
“I don't need you lookin' after me, boy!” Yondu scoffed, grabbing one of Kraglin's wrists and forcing him away. With his frenzy broken, though, he didn't launch himself right back on top of Marzu, whose breathing had stopped and whose limbs twitched sporadically.  
  
Kraglin licked his lips nervously as he looked down at the fresh corpse. “Ya' killed him.”  
  
“He had it comin'.”  
  
“Ya' think his boss is gonna think so?”  
  
“I don't give a thunderin' shit.” Yondu straightened his coat, then looked at the smears of blood on it and snarled. Now he'd have to get his leathers cleaned too, if he didn't want a big purple stain on it...not that he completely hated the idea. He enjoyed reminders of his better kills, and while this one may have been unplanned and messy, the burning convolution of hatred and satisfaction definitely ranked it as 'better'. “C'mon. We're goin' back to the _Eclector_.”  
  
Kraglin didn't comment on the fact that his captain hadn't tacked the 'II' onto the end. It was less wordy this way...and anyway, Yondu could call it the _Sparkling Princess_ and he'd still be the man who just beat another man to death with his bare fists when he could have put an arrow through him instead.  
  
They were alone on the gangplank when Yondu rumbled, quiet enough that Kraglin almost missed it, “You'd kill anyone what meant me wrong. You would, wouldn'cha? If they said you'd never see me again.”  
  
Kraglin couldn't stop the anger that fanned through him at that last part, burning at his calm like a hot coal. Anything he did to someone who threatened to take Yondu away from him would make Marzu's broken face seem like a mercy. “Cap'n, they'd be dead 'fore they hit the ground.”  
  
Yondu nodded, swallowing as best as he could when his throat felt so tight. He knew it was true. Knew that there was no one Kraglin wouldn't throw himself at full-body, if the occasion required it. He also knew that the way that that knowledge made him feel couldn't be explained away with some captain-and-crew dynamic, or anything in that vein. It was too...raw. It settled too deep, and it sank in big, heavy claws when he tried to evict it like he did with the rest of those unpredictable and soft-centered feelings that liked to creep in when he wasn't looking.  
  
He didn't examine it too closely. But for once, he didn't bury it under an immediate distraction, either. There was no point.  
  
It had been rearing its stubborn head long before then.  
  
The _Eclector II_ wasn't even a full hour away from Knowhere when the ship comm flickered to life with another message. Yondu eyed the sender – the details were blocked off, as was fairly typical in their line of work, but it scanned from roughly the same area as the message that had told them where to meet Marzu. So...their client deciding to threaten them for what Yondu had done, most likely.  
  
“Pull it up,” he grunted to Remo. Remo nodded and obeyed, tapping the buttons with a hint of nervousness in his motions. Nobody was prepared for what the message said...and for once, that was a good thing.  
  
  
\- With my apologies to Captain Udonta  
\- I would like to express my sincerest regrets in relation to your unfortunate interaction with my envoy. Whatever Mr. Etmolag did to upset you, I hope my honoring your price of half a million interplanetary credits will ensure we remain business partners. The money has been wired directly to your ship's reception system, to be scanned for potential threats by any means you deem necessary. Once the _Unreachable's_ destruction is confirmed, I will lift the cyberlock and the money may be distributed wherever you require it.  
\- Sincerely, LX  
  
  
“She writes real messages. Not mission shorthand,” Kraglin noted.  
  
“An' a lot of big words, too. We sure she ain't Sovereign herself?” Theno asked.  
  
Yondu shook his head, looking over the message and biting back a grin. So, no anger over the death of her trusted middleman? Miss LX had disposables at her command, did she? He wondered idly if she'd sent Marzu to him on purpose – to threaten Yondu, perhaps. Or to get rid of Marzu. Either way, it seemed best to eliminate the _Unreachable_ and then never deal with her again. Sneaky, squirrely types like her who viewed their underlings as cannon fodder were best kept as far away as possible.  
  
But hey – half a million credits was half a million credits.  
  
“C'mon, boys an' girls. Let's go blow up a Sovereign ship.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
The mission was three hours underway and Kraglin wasn't _nervous._  
  
That would be _ridiculous_.  
  
There was no need to be nervous, after all. Yondu had been flying M-ships longer than most Sovereign pilots had been alive. He maneuvered over them like he was cutting through jelly, guns firing with pinpoint precision. There was absolutely no reason to fear for Yondu's life, especially since the Sovereign were completely unprepared for the attack, and Yondu had been joined by four pilots who were all exceptional in their own right, Kraglin among them. The _Unreachable_ might have looked sleek, but it was large and ungainly, poorly shaped for swift maneuvering. It was easily outpaced by the _Eclector II's_ small attack ships, and what was more, as a cargo ship it barely had any of its own. It was a dangerous job as far as long-term risk went, but a clean enough execution would render those risks negligible, and this was going as smooth as a fresh batch of synthskin.  
  
And yet he knew he was lying to himself, because he _was_ nervous as he steered his own M-ship over wide golden fins, watching Yondu from a safe distance and calling the threats that the crew of the _Unreachable_ could muster. He was nervous when Yondu shot out their communications panel, cutting off their ability to call for help. He was nervous when the twins swept in to shoot out the bridge windows, killing the most competent of the crew. He was nervous when he and Yondu worked in deadly tandem with the others running their sides, sweeping over the floundering tanker and tearing away its decorative pieces until they could finally target the life support modules on the back.  
  
In fact he really only stopped being nervous once they confirmed all Sovereign were dead, the only message sent from the _Unreachable_ had been blocked, and half of their liquid cargo – it turned out their client was interested in Makluan spring water – was loaded.  
  
And Yondu noticed.  
  
Kraglin was hardly surprised when Yondu dragged him aside once the rest of the crew was either busy or gone. His captain pinned him against the wall with one firm-fingered grip on his shoulder, leaning in on his elbow. The dig over his collar bones was painful, but much more pressing was the burning red-eyed stare currently trying to bore clean into his skull.  
  
“There somethin' about me goin' out in my own damn M-ship you don't like, Obfonteri?”  
  
Kraglin swallowed around a nervous (and somewhat angry) lump in his throat. “Nothin', sir.”  
  
“Then why was you panickin' like a damn rabbit every time I got within fifty feet of the _Unreachable?_ ”  
  
Kraglin wrinkled his nose in a closed-lipped snarl and gave Yondu a push back. He seemed to remember after a moment that pushing Yondu when he was in a mood like this was a bad idea, and had he been anyone else, he'd have ended up with an arrow wound in someplace non-vital but extremely painful. As it was, Yondu's lips pursed like he was thinking about it anyway.  
  
“Don'chu shove me again, Obfonteri. You won't like what I end up doin'.”  
  
Kraglin looked as if he were going to explode before he said, “Sir, I'm allowed to worry about ya', alright?”  
  
The one-eighty had Yondu blinking as if he hadn't quite heard him. What exactly had pushed Kraglin to shove him, and then say something like _that_ in the course of five seconds? “I wasn't still expectin' an answer to that question.”  
  
“I know. But it needs sayin' all the same.” Kraglin cleared his throat, looking around to make sure no one else would hear what he had to say. He lowered his voice despite the empty bay. “Ya' gone back to work, that's fine. Ya' gone back to trusting me, and I sure do appreciate that. Ya' look like your old self, and that's good.”  
  
“But?” Yondu prompted snidely, knowing this was leading into something else.  
  
“But,” Kraglin continued, and Yondu could see a haunted expression on his face, “I can't shake it, Cap'n. Seein' ya' out in space, freezin' over, with your eyes goin' dark...I thought I was gonna lose ya', an' there wasn't nothin' I could do about it.” Yondu's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He'd known, of course. Hell, he'd mulled it over himself. But he was alive, and he wasn't even on recompression medications any more. Why was Kraglin so worried now? “I don't ever wanna see that again, not ever. An' when ya' go out in the _Warbird,_ all I can think is that you're gonna get hit, and you...or me, I won't even...”  
  
Yondu scowled. “It ain't happenin', Obfonteri. I'm here to stay, get me?”  
  
“But ya' can't know that. No one _plans_ on dyin' in a fight.”  
  
On the one hand, Kraglin had a point. On the other hand, the hell was he supposed to do, quit being a Ravager? Tread on eggshells for the rest of his life? Never go out in his M-ship again, after he'd gone through all the trouble of fixing her up exactly like the old _Warbird?_ Hell no. That wasn't him, and Kraglin should have known better after all their years together.  
  
“Best teach yourself to stop worryin'. I ain't gonna quit now,” Yondu said.  
  
Kraglin's head drooped until it looked like it was going to pop from his skinny shoulders, and he shook it morosely. “I don't think I can, Cap'n.”  
  
“Why the hell not? You been doin' it for years.”  
  
“Yeah, but that was before I watched ya' die.”  
  
Yondu rolled his eyes. “I didn't _die,_ y'idjit. If I'd died, I wouldn't be here, would I?”  
  
“Ya' was basically dead for months, Yondu,” Kraglin said, meeting his eyes with such an aching thousand-yard stare on his face that Yondu felt for a moment as if someone had snatched the air from his lungs. “They didn't know if they could save ya'. Told us not to get our hopes up. I couldn't look, all full of tubes and needles...”  
  
Okay, so the vision of himself that flitted through his mind was definitely a harrowing one...but that didn't mean he was going to back down. “An' you think the Sovereign could put me back there?” Yondu asked skeptically, aggressively trying to forget how he'd come to the conclusion that losing Kraglin would have sent him into a frenzy of rage.  
  
“I think they'll try, and that's more'n enough for me. Ain't nothin' in the galaxy worth losin' you for.”  
  
Yondu _definitely_ felt like someone had stolen his air now. He had to snort as he backpedaled to maintain his facade, and he threw in a head-shake for good measure. “Don't let the greenies hear you talkin' like that, or they'll tear you down from the top of the ladder like the soft-hearted dumbass you are.”  
  
Kraglin gave him a slow blink, like he could see right through him. “Ya' don't mean that, sir.”  
  
There was something more to this conversation, it was obvious. Yondu refused to think about it, because once he found what Kraglin was _really_ trying to say, he knew he'd never be able to ignore it again. It would be there, looping bright-hot like a solar flare, scorched into his brain until he couldn't remember a time when Kraglin didn't feel...like that.  
  
And if Kraglin felt like that, he'd have to ask himself if it was mutual. The idea was terrifying.  
  
Yondu couldn't shake it though.  
  
Not through several more jobs, a nice little heist on Xandar, and a visit with Quill to show him that yes, by freezing hell, he was doing just fine so could he please stop being so worried and maudlin now?  
  
Quill had, in fact, been neither – not on any level large enough to earn the mockery he got from Yondu, anyway. But as they sat around the _Milano's_ third build (honestly, was the kid ever going to name it something more intimidating?), eating whatever they'd raided from Quill's snack cupboard, that didn't stop him from getting all emotional anyway.  
  
“It's just good to see you alive is all,” Quill said warmly, chucking Yondu on the arm with a huge grin on his face.  
  
Yondu promptly punched him back, leaving Quill clutching his bicep in pain. He did not 'chuck'. “Why the hell's everyone thinkin' I'm gonna get myself killed? Flarksake, Quill. I ain't fragile or somethin'; you and Kraglin are as bad as each other.”  
  
“Oh, gee, I wonder why that could be?” he quipped, delving into a can of Beastie Worms with a spoon. Yondu eyed them jealously before reaching out to take the whole thing, not caring in the slightest that he'd finished his own a few minutes ago. Nearby, Kraglin shot Quill a look that could have melted clear through the hull of a Kree warship. “It couldn't be because – hey, no, those ones are mine! You ate yours!”  
  
“An' now I want more.”  
  
“Give them back!!”  
  
Yondu did no such thing. Quill wouldn't risk snatching them back, not with the lid off; they'd spill everywhere, and no one wanted a Beastie infestation on their ship no matter how tasty they were. “Consider it a tax for goin' soft now that you're away.”  
  
“That is a pathetic excuse. I thought Ravagers didn't steal from their fellow Ravagers?” Quill reminded him, standing and extending one arm over Yondu's head for them. Yondu offered him a good, hard headbutt for his troubles, making sure the fin caught him right in the pit. “Ow! This is exactly why I turned out as dysfunctional as I did. I want you to know that.”  
  
“Boy, you didn't need none of my help for that,” Yondu laughed back at him.  
  
The rest of their conversation continued along predictable lines, mostly teasing and catching up. Quill and his had been up to about as much good as they could be, given their collective assemblage of morally ambiguous habits. While the _Eclector II_ and her crew had been finding their feet again, he and the Guardians had run a few errands for some Xandarian officials...before raiding a tomb moon, much to Gamora's chagrin. She thought it was in bad taste. Yondu wished he'd been there for it. Judging by Quill's description of the goodies that lay beyond the traps, it had been a damn good haul. And the dead certainly weren't using or appreciating the shinies.  
  
The Guardians filtered in and out at random, joining in the talks more often than not. The twig had grown considerably, and though he was going through his surly teenage years – by the flarking Celestials, Yondu did _not_ miss those years with Quill – he still sauntered in long enough to offer a faux-casual 'I am Groot' before heading back to his nest of vines and leaves.

Eventually, though, it was time to leave. Kraglin was less keen on it than he used to be; turned out he got along with Quill a lot better now that he didn't live on the same ship as him. Both he and Quill knew they'd also bonded silently over what they'd thought to be the loss of Yondu, but neither of them were going to say that to the other. Quill liked his unspoken things...  
  
...but he was also the nosiest Terran to ever live, which was why once he and Yondu were alone, he cleared his throat. “So, he told you, huh?”  
  
Yondu turned to regard him with an arched brow. “Who told me what?”  
  
“Kraglin. The way he glared at me every time feelings came up, I figured he finally dropped the bomb, so to speak.” Quill was watching Yondu warily for a reaction, flicking his eyes to the yaka holster every now and then. Yondu wouldn't kill him, that much was common knowledge, but that didn't mean he was above jabbing him between the ribs a couple times to see if it made him a little less fresh. “Did you even let him talk about it?”  
  
Yondu turned back towards his pile of things, stacking them so he could carry them without anything falling. “Ain't nothin' to talk about.”  
  
“What?” Quill exclaimed, that dopey, incredulous look spreading over his face. “Dude! You're telling me you almost _died -_ “  
  
“I'd pay a whole lotta credits for people to stop bringin' that up.”  
  
“ - and you haven't made things official with Kraglin?”  
  
“S' already official!” Yondu snapped, turning to face Quill with a scowl, his things temporarily abandoned. “Ain't fucked or been fucked by anyone other than him in damn near five years, 'cept for bots.” Hey, if Quill wanted to push himself where he didn't belong, he could survive a reminder that Yondu liked sitting on Kraglin's dick. “We got each other's backs, his one lil' slip-up aside.”  
  
Quill barked out a single incredulous laugh. “'Little' slip-up? You'd have slaughtered anyone else who'd done what he did.”  
  
Yondu scoffed. “Yeah, well, it's a good thing he did it, or we'd all be dead on Ego, wouldn't we?”  
  
“Doesn't mean you wouldn't have killed him if he'd been anyone else,” Quill countered, folding his arms and glaring at Yondu. “Shit, Yondu. You are literally the only person who thinks this is anything even close to a secret. Everyone else knows, and it doesn't change a damn thing. Half of the galaxy is terrified of you, and the other half is trying not to piss you off so that they don't have a reason to be terrified of you.”  
  
“Why do I gotta put it to words?!” Yondu demanded, the dam keeping all those self-traitorous thoughts under control cracking under the continued pressure. Pressure from Kraglin, Quill, himself, there had been too damn much demanding that he address this lately. He was sick of it, and if the only way to make it stop was to grab it by the horns and wrestle it down like an Asgardian with a bilgesnipe, then he was damn well going to do it. Yondu thew his hands in the air, marking the start of his little tirade. “Everyone thinks I gotta _open up_ and _let myself out_ just cuz' I got a little chilly! Ain't nothin' changed. _Nothin'!_ To hear you all tell it, I'm s'posta have this big revelation and start singin' to the birds an' shit like that.”  
  
Quill rolled his eyes. “'A little chilly' doesn't even start - ”  
  
“If everyone knows my mind on the matter, how come everyone's on my ass to talk about it? S' damn near a universal fact, says you and everyone else. So know it, and shut the hell up! What difference does it make if I say somethin' out loud or not?”  
  
Quill watched him carefully to make sure he was done before giving a stern grunt, arms still folded. “For most people? It doesn't. It doesn't make any difference at all.”  
  
“Alright then, why - “  
  
“But for Kraglin it does. He's just too mindful of you to say anything about it.”  
  
Yondu stopped himself in the middle of his next rhetorical question. He leveled a deadly glower at Quill, who returned it with equal ferocity. Where did he get it in his head to try to talk to him like this? Like some kind of shrink or something, prying into his personal business with Kraglin. It was just fine, what they had. So Kraglin had tried to push for some kind of conversation about it, but the man could be forgiven for the occasional lapse in judgment. He wasn't with Kraglin for his brains, after all.  
  
_Yes you are. And plenty more besides._  
  
Yondu hated how he couldn't stop his own mind from supplying these arguments. Why couldn't he catch a damn break?  
  
“He knows,” Yondu rumbled bitterly. “He ain't as stupid as all that; he knows.”  
  
“Really? Have you told him?”  
  
Yondu was starting to get dangerously close to giving Quill a real good, hard sock in his well-intentioned mouth. “I seem to recall your pretty green girlfriend sayin' somethin' about an 'unspoken thing' between the two'a you.”  
  
“She said something about it. Ergo, not unspoken,” Quill reminded him with a firm smirk.  
  
Yondu tightened his jaw and wrestled one hand into the floppy lapel of Quill's jacket, giving him a savage shake with the one hand while leveling the other at him in a mean point. Quill finally realized how close he was to the limits of Yondu's patience and he let himself fall quiet, though his stare stayed just as intense as it was before. There was a vein twitching in that strong blue jaw as Yondu gritted it, fumbling for words that kept leaping just out of reach in his head.  
  
The best he could manage was to snort and shove him back before saying, “I don't need you meddlin' in my private business.” He threw in a swat, aimed upside his head, just for good measure.  
  
Quill dodged, shrugged...  
  
...and in a spectacularly cheap shot that any Ravager would have been proud to have committed themselves, called back to Yondu as he headed through the bay doors and away from the threat of having his nose broken, “I'll remember to quote you on that when you and Kraglin are fighting.”  
  
Yondu turned to grab him, but the doors were closed and Quill was smart enough to engage the lock so he couldn't chase after him.  
  
The little shit.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
It was official. Official and completely infuriating: he couldn't dodge the conversation Kraglin had been trying to have forever. He wanted to, very much so – wanted it more than a starving man wanted food. But what with everyone and their flarkin' grandmother asking him about it, it was impossible to ignore. And if it was annoying him, it must have been burning Kraglin up.  
  
So, freshly patched up after a scrap on one of Xandar's moons, he figured it was high time.  
  
“Obfonteri. My cabin,” he snapped as he moved past him on the bridge.  
  
Kraglin looked up like Yondu had electrocuted him, face immediately blotching with blue. He had every reason to be nervous; his last personal interaction with Yondu hadn't exactly gone swimmingly, after all, and he wasn't looking forward to another tongue-lashing. Especially since he hadn't even done anything to deserve this one.  
  
So if he shuffled his feet a little on his way to the impromptu meeting, Yondu supposed he couldn't exactly tear him a new one for it. No matter how annoying the wait was.  
  
The biolock beeped, signaling someone's entry. Yondu knew it was Kraglin who'd opened his door despite his staring out the window, because no one else other than the two of them had access. And he had to speak before he lost the will to do so, because goodness knew the drive was tentative enough as it was.  
  
“Alright. So we're gonna talk about it.”  
  
Kraglin froze just inside the doorway as it slid closed behind him. “I't', sir?”  
  
“Don't play games with me.” Yondu turned to look at him, and the scowl on his face hardly invited conversation. “You an' me. As an item.”  
  
Kraglin nodded slowly. “Right. So, uh...that ain't the face I was hopin' you'd have when ya' brought that up.”  
  
“Ain't no other face I've got for the occasion, so better learn to like it,” Yondu huffed. He paced to the opposite wall, further away from Kraglin. He couldn't be near him _and_ talk about his emotions, it made the scene far too intimate. Like he wanted this or something. “We go a long ways back, Krags. I remember the first time I took you to my bed; your knees damn near knocked each other apart.”  
  
“They did _not,_ ” Kraglin protested, even though he knew it was true. He'd been nervous as hell when Yondu had fixed him in a hungry red stare and told him he wanted him in his cabin. Looking back on it, he smirked. “I thought somethin' was broken in your room. An' ya' said - “  
  
“ - somethin' was about to be,” Yondu said, nodding. “Yeah. I told you I remember. An' that ain't what I wanna talk about. S' more important things need discussin' right now.”  
  
Kraglin tried to look nonchalant, but the tight bobbing of his throat gave him away. “Yessir.”  
  
“Never called it nothin', not even when we decided we wasn't gonna fuck no one else 'cept for bots.” _That_ had been a weird conversation, mostly because their reasons for wanting to keep the other to themselves was rooted in a deep-seated affection...which they couldn't discuss. Justifying the request, therefore, was hard. Very hard. “Didn't talk about it when them folks on Hrax saw that love bite you gave me an' suddenly stopped flirtin', not even after I found out why.”  
  
Kraglin's cheeks burned. “That – that was an accident.”  
  
“Y'don't _accidentally_ mark a man as yours. S'why you spent so damn long stoppin' yourself from doin' it.”  
  
Kraglin couldn't quite look him in the eye. He cleared his throat, buying a precious second of time before saying, “I thought ya' was gonna kill me when you found out. Couldn't believe how lucky I was when ya' didn't.”  
  
“Yeah, well, there's a reason for that.” Yondu scratched his chin with obvious discomfort, hearing Quill's voice echoing in his head. It mattered to Kraglin. Kraglin may have been a deadly force with knives or teeth, graceless as a drunken hoarbeast, vicious and cruel with his enemies, and prone to take anything that caught his eye...  
  
...but it mattered. And if it mattered to him, then goddammit, it mattered to Yondu too. “I remember times when I didn't love you. Don't much wanna go back to 'em.”  
  
Kraglin's eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. It looked downright comical, Yondu thought with a ruthlessly suppressed snicker. Like a hairy-faced fish, especially when his struggle for words resulted in him gulping dumbly a couple times. “Cap'n.”  
  
“I don't wanna make a big deal out of it, Kraglin,” Yondu warned him swiftly, but it was too late. Kraglin closed the space between them, robbing him of his protective buffer, and he pulled him into a rough hug. Yondu could feel those bony fingers digging into his shoulders, smell the musk and sweat in Kraglin's hair as he buried his face in his shoulder. And Yondu knew that letting his arms hang useless at his sides like he wanted to would only serve to undo everything this extremely bare-souled conversation had done.  
  
Kraglin sighed against him when he tucked his hands against his sides, letting them come to rest just under his shoulder blades. Yondu rolled his eyes at the tiny, wispy breath, but didn't move. He just waited to hear how Kraglin would respond.  
  
“Sure is nice to hear it, Cap'n.” Kraglin apparently decided now was a good time to keep pressing his luck, because before Yondu could bite out something sufficiently snarky to end the discussion, Kraglin's mouth caught his. It was short, barely two seconds...but he could feel the chapped scrape of his lips and the way their stubble caught together, and taste the honeypunch that lingered on the back of his breath.  
  
Kraglin didn't make a fuss when Yondu pulled back. He was smiling, though, which brought Yondu's brow down over his eyes. “Don't look so damn pleased with yourself, or there ain't gonna be no physical signs of it for a while.”  
  
“Like ya' could keep away,” Kraglin scoffed affectionately. Yondu wasn't sure what he thought of that tone coming from him. “But alright, have it your way.”  
  
“I usually do.” Yondu was happy to call it there...but then Kraglin came up behind him and pressed another kiss to the back of his neck.  
  
And if he just happened to melt a little inside, well, no one had to know that except for him.

 


End file.
